Leaves are red

Leaves are orange

Shining vividly in the cold autumn rain

 

Leaves are red

Leaves are orange

Shining brightly in the cold autumn sun

 

Leaves are red

Leaves are orange

Shining faintly in the cold autumn wind

These words were written as refrains for a song after my father died on August 8, 2012. In that fall, leaves were particularly beautiful. In fact, I could never remember seeing such striking colors in this country before.

Ever since we came to the U.S. I always missed the beautiful fall in Japan. But three years ago, the colors around me were almost too much. They hurt my eyes and pierced my heart. I wondered if they were truly more vivid than usual or my heart was more open to receive the beauty that had always been there.

I even asked my husband about it, and his response was, “perhaps both.” He had also lost his father a year earlier, so he probably understood what I was going through.

As I watched the changing colors, I tried to complete the song. The tune came relatively easily, but I could never write verses to my satisfaction.

I wanted to sing my pain, how much I missed and still loved him. I wanted to know if he still remembered me and was desperately looking for any signs of his presence.

I remembered him on a hot summer day when I was about to fly back to the States. As I was getting into my stepmother’s car, we saw him come out of the house. He stood there with his cane lifted high into the sky to signal me a goodbye, perhaps for the last time. He didn’t move an inch as though he had been baked into a statue by the summer heat. I jumped out of the car to give him a hug. Both of us were crying.

That was the last time we were able to communicate with each other. When I went back to Japan about a month later, he never woke up from his sleep and died on the next day.

When he died, my mind and heart were not in the normal place. The experience was so unique and profound that I was almost disappointed by the realization that the magic would slowly dissipate in everyday noise.

It has been more than three years since he had died. I still love him dearly and cry especially when I remember how I felt at that time. But I am not as desperate as I had been.

This year I have been waiting for another gorgeous fall for a while, but I see that many leaves have already fallen. Have I missed it?

May my heart remain open to receive the beauty whenever and however it appears in you, me and others.